


A Series Of Dissociative Events

by gala_apples



Series: Kinking Deadly Class [1]
Category: Deadly Class (TV)
Genre: Aftercare, Drunk Sex, First Time, M/M, Spanking, Subspace, Under-negotiated Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-11
Updated: 2020-10-11
Packaged: 2021-03-07 19:20:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26942803
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gala_apples/pseuds/gala_apples
Summary: Marcus has been awake almost thirty hours. In that time he’s tried to commit suicide, been given the promise of companionship, been kissed for second and third time in his life, gotten to shower at his leisure for the first time in years, been nearly stabbed to death twice, and killed a man. What better time to find out he's bisexual and submissive?Inspired by episode 1, Reagan Youth.
Relationships: Marcus Lopez Arguello/Billy Bennett
Series: Kinking Deadly Class [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1849930
Comments: 3
Kudos: 43





	A Series Of Dissociative Events

**Author's Note:**

> My Crave account as I watch the same thirty second scene for the 47th time in a row: bitch, you okay?
> 
> me: Billy spanks Marcus, plz leave me to die.
> 
> Written for the prompt spanking for seasonofkink. Obviously.

There’s about thirty teenagers on the roof when Marcus goes up to the graveyard. He really shouldn’t be coming up here. He’s been awake almost thirty hours, and in that time he’s tried to commit suicide, been given the promise of companionship, been kissed for second and third time in his life, gotten to shower at his leisure for the first time in years, been nearly stabbed to death twice, and killed a man. He needs to fucking rest.

And yet, here he is. One lesson you learn quickly when homeless, don’t turn down a free high. He’s been using whatever he can get his hands on since breaking out of the boys home. Weed or shrooms or crack make it easier to forget everything that’s happened to him. If Maria says Petra’s made moonshine for them all, Marcus isn’t going to walk away from that. Maybe if he drinks enough the blood of a serial killer will rinse off his hands.

Marcus doesn’t know a lot of people, but there are a few to say hey to. Lex, the Brit. Petra, obviously. Marcus goes for Billy first, only because he seems the friendliest. Hell, even in the meat locker when they were trying to recruit him yesterday, Billy put odds on him winning a fight against Willie. Billy doesn’t know about Willie’s pacifism, so that was a genuine compliment. 

“How’s your night been?” Billy seems cool as a cucumber. Everyone on the roof does. Everyone’s got blood on their hands tonight, and a lock of hair or a tooth or a polaroid to show Master Lin tomorrow, and Marcus is the only one who’s jittery. He needs to toughen up if he’s going to find a home here.

“Good man, thanks for asking. Got like twenty people to sign my cast, Legacies are so much friendlier when drunk. Grade three me would be so proud of my stunning popularity,” Billy laughs.

“Cool. That’s cool.”

“Go get a drink, man,” Billy instructs. He punctuates the direction with a slap on the ass.

In that moment Marcus finds out not one but two more ways he’s broken. Twisted. Totally skewed from the norm. A moan punches out of his throat at the slap, utterly involuntarily. It feels good to get hit like this. And it doesn’t matter to his body that it was another boy who did it. 

Marcus considers his revelation for a moment, the idea that if Saya had been a Sam and kissed him on the tower, he still would have gotten on his motorcycle. Then he shakes it off, tucks it away. It’s too much. Tomorrow he’ll think about it, write a journal entry or draw something about his new knowledge of himself, but after so long awake and stressed being kinky and queer is too much to add on. Marcus keeps walking, heading for Petra and Lex and the jug of yellowish liquid he can only assume is the moonshine. Billy won’t say shit, Marcus is pretty sure. Only Saya knows he’s not a mass murderer, everyone else thinks he’s violent to the core.

Maria cosies up for a while, they talk and drink as he thinks about moral compasses and the dangers of having one while others don’t in a cruel world. But eventually she fucks off back to her abusive boyfriend, and Marcus is free to mingle. Saya’s there with two other members of the Syndicate, a girl with dozens of red ribbons tied into her hair and a boy with tattooed knuckles. Marcus considers going over to say hi, then dismisses it as pathetic. Saya’s already said he was an assignment, nothing real. Instead he tries to start making nerdy conversation with that Hessian Billy said has weed. He’ll need a connection if he’s staying here long term.

About forty minutes in, Marcus starts to lose interest. It’s to his benefit to make allies here. He might not want a gang like Maria said he needed but he’d like someone who would poison a bully on his behalf, like Billy and Petra have. Still, he’s exhausted and it’s not going to happen all in one night. He can crash now, and work on it more tomorrow.

There are at least three exits off the roof Marcus can see, but he takes the staircase he knows leads back down to the dorms. Fuck knows where the others lead to, if there are locked doors and secret passages. Marcus is used to being in places he knows how to escape from. Never again will he not be able to leave a place when he needs to. He got a lifetime of that at the boys home. Marcus doesn’t like the idea of not knowing all the ways out of King’s Dominion. Exploring the school is just another thing he’ll have to do sooner rather than later, especially if some gang dipshit has it out for him because Maria set him up. 

He’s halfway down the stairwell when there’s the clattering of someone running down the stairs behind him. Marcus puts his back to the wall so he won’t get a barbecue fork in it, and only then twists to see who’s been following him.

It’s only Billy. Billy, who’s grinning a wide grin at him. It’s been so fucking long since he’s been smiled at rather than being stepped around and studiously ignored as if the plight of homelessness is contagious that merely seeing a smile has Marcus feeling better.

“Hey, man. I’m glad I caught you.”

“Oh yeah? What, you want me to be your partner in combat class tomorrow so you don’t get your other arm broken?” Marcus won’t mind. It’s probably for the best if he doesn’t partner with Maria again. Chico will see it as a provocation, and he doesn’t need Maria’s craziness in his life.

Billy looks down at the becasted arm he’s waving. “Not quite. Nah, was just thinking, just noticing... you were really into that spanking earlier, huh.”

“What? No!” Marcus doesn’t have a witty line prepared to deal with this. He didn’t think Billy would dare bring it up. 

“A regular Marky Masochist,” Billy continues.

“No, I’m not.” Fuck. He doesn’t want to have to get into a fight about being queer. Hasn’t today already been long enough? There’s only so much energy his body can produce before fight or flight responses stop triggering and he just fucking takes whatever shit the world has to offer. Marcus doesn’t want to brawl, or even talk his way out of this, his brain as fatigued as his body. He just wants to sleep.

“You are, but it’s okay. It’s super hot, actually,” Billy grins. “So how about I spank you, and then I come listening to you come.”

Well, holy fuck.

The confrontation takes on a whole new perspective now. Billy’s not trying to catch him out, he’s trying to hook up with him. Shit. There’s nothing like the prospect of sex to give a tired sixteen year old a second wind. Is this sex? Does it count? Marcus’ rock hard dick definitely thinks it’s sex. The warm tingle in his neck and upper back thinks it’s sex.

Marcus must be showing his interest in some way, because Billy smirks and says, “yeah, had a feeling you’d like the sound of that. Lin put you up in one of the maintenance closets, right? Dick move, but it does technically mean you have the only single dorm in school. Who knows when my roommate throws up and decides to crash? Lead the way.”

This is too good to be true. It has to be. Today’s already proven Marcus can’t just think with his dick. “Is this you trying to get me alone so you can shank me too?”

“No, this is me trying to find a place to make your ass purple. We could do it in the stairwell, no skin off my nose, but I don’t think it’ll be as comfortable.”

He’s saying it so fucking casually, like it’s no big deal to want to orgasm with another guy. It’s not normal, Marcus thinks. He’s already had two people pretend to be attracted to him to lure him into traps. There’s probably a class for it, a class on sexual manipulation last semester that he missed as the new kid. He can’t just trust the smile, as much as he’d like to.

But how far would Billy be willing to take it, really? Both of the girls only made it as far as kissing. Could a straight boy even manage that much with some nasty queer? Marcus decides in his sleepless mind to press the issue. It’s the only way he can be sure Billy and the Soto Vatos haven’t struck a deal. Marcus climbs a few steps up until he’s just one below Billy and shoves his mouth into his. 

It’s a messy kiss, open mouthed and at a funny angle. More importantly it’s a returned kiss. Billy’s flicking his tongue over his, greedily. Marcus’ overloaded brain thinks then of his earlier interactions with the punk boy. Billy got his arm broken for saying he understood why Viktor would want to fuck him, that he’s soft and smells good and uses lotion. And then at lunch he said Chico was in love with Marcus. Straight boys don’t joke around about being gay so much, he’s pretty sure. 

“So you mean it then. You’re into the idea of spanking me. Why?”

Billy shrugs. “Dunno, why are you into the idea of getting spanked? Sex is just a series of actions that turn you on, regardless of the ‘makes sense’ of them. Unless it’s rape, or like, animal fucking, who really cares what actions those are?”

That hits a little too close to home, not that Billy could possibly know he’s hitting on bad topics. Marcus doesn’t want to think about the dynamics of beastiality right now, he wants Billy’s tongue down his throat. He wants Billy’s hand purpling his ass, as promised. He leans up for another raunchy kiss, and smacks Billy’s ass once, just for emphasis.

“Let’s go, then.”

They trample down the rest of the flights with the rush of the horny and the loose limbs of the tipsy. If Marcus was a better person, the kind of person whose parents didn’t die at Reagan’s hands, he’d tell himself he needs to be sober to do this, to make a clear decision. But he’s not. He’s the kind of person who hasn’t been sober in a year if he can help it, the kind of person to snort coke with a flyer found in a gutter, the kind of person to smoke a roach laced with PCP. Being simply drunk when losing his virginity is practically being sober, for how tame and suburban it is.

It only takes Marcus one try to get his door unlocked. _His_ door, to _his_ room. It’s the first time in a long time that Marcus has been in contact with a bed. Hours ago he really thought its first purpose would be to finally lay down in, clean and comfortable, and sleep. In just a T-shirt, or naked, even. He hasn’t ever slept that way before. In the tent city, every layer scrounged is a layer protection from the elements. At the boys home, it was a matter of safety, and inviting trouble. And before that he was the kind of kid to wear matching flannel pj’s. Nude in bed is a wild luxury that Marcus had been planning on taking full advantage of. Except it seems now he’s got even loftier goals.

“This place blows,” Billy declares, looking around. “I wanted to do it against a wall, but there’s shit hanging everywhere. I’d say I’d talk to Lin about cheapskate accommodations but I don’t want a cane in the face so I probably won’t. You understand.”

Beggars can’t be choosers, Marcus thinks. A classic adage that most people say but don’t really understand. He understands all too well, and he’s not going to whine for a proper dorm room when the real options given are storage cupboard with a bed or under a bridge.

“So over your lap on the bed then?” He doesn’t want Billy focusing on what he can’t have when there’s so much he still can. Perfection is a luxury item most people can’t afford, for one reason or another. It’s nice, but unnecessary.

“Uh, no, actually. Come over to where I’m standing?”

Where Billy’s standing is the slatted door. It’ll be weird to brace himself against but no more uncomfortable than hand to hand combat class, and no more exhibitionist than telling secrets to a girl for whom he’s just an assignment. Marcus has done a million worse things, he can give himself this.

As Marcus takes the few steps away from the bed and towards Billy, the punk in question starts stripping. Billy takes off both his hunter green jacket and his jean jacket covered in pins, gets down to a tan t-shirt and a chunky chain necklace with a lock dangling from it. It sounds fucking stupid to admit he hadn’t thought about getting naked with Billy for this. With freshly opened eyes though, yeah it’s probably even kinkier and weirder if Marcus stays in his school boy uniform while he’s getting spanked. He follows Billy’s example, loses the crimson piped blazer and yanks the tie loose enough that he can toss it onto the bed. Even being in a clean button down feels luxurious.

“Pants on or pants off?”

“You’re asking?” Billy raises an eyebrow.

“You seem to have experience with this kind of shit. Isn’t this fuckin’ school all about showing off expert skills?” The words are hardly bitter as they leave his lips, even though he’s smart enough to know he’s wrong. This place might not foster his best qualities, but what fascists of society get to decide what best is anyway? Fuck it.

“Well, if an expert opinion is what you want- pants off, Marky Masochist,” Billy answers, waving his casted arm at him.

Marcus doesn’t bother to ask about the underwear. He’s sure Billy would only tell him to take them off. He kicks them aside and wonders if everyone feels equal parts turned on and utterly vulnerable during sex, or if it’s just his taxed, emotionally stunted psyche.

The first strike he hears before he feels. Billy’s hand creates a _crack_ that makes Marcus shiver before he even registers the sensation. It’s the smallest pinprick of a sting, a point five on a scale of one to ten. But what it also is, is confirmation that the instance on the roof wasn’t just a fluke he was building up in his head. Marcus loves the feeling, and the sound, and whatever kind of dirty pervert that makes him, well, fuck it. Not like he was going to please the WASPs of the world anyway.

It’s not much. Not at first. Billy layers on smack over smack on the same cheek though, and it starts to build up. His asscheek is hot, and getting hotter. Pretty soon there might be visible marks, a red tinted handprint. The moment he has the thought Marcus bucks his hips, body moving of its own accord. It’d be the nicest marks another person has ever left on his body, the filth of it all actually comparatively benign. He wants it so suddenly, so strongly, it’s like being catapulted into the ocean.

After a length of time Marcus couldn’t begin to mentally calculate at this point in his day, Billy adjusts his stance so he can hit Marcus’ left cheek with his right hand. After all, it’s not like Billy can stay where he is and switch to his left hand. Marcus doesn’t even know for sure that spanking is an ambidextrous activity, though it seems like it should be, not requiring any fine motor movement and all. It’s a dumb thing to be thinking about in the middle of sex, but his mind is sort of floating. Maybe he’s exhausted, or having after affects from the PCP, or having a mental break from the murder, or maybe this is what happens during sex. It says a lot about his life that he’s got so many options of explanations.

At some point Marcus realizes that he’s bucking his hips again, doing it rhythmically at counterpoint with Billy’s spanking. Objectively speaking, rutting against the slats isn’t much comfortable, but he doesn’t contemplate for a moment stopping himself. His ass is burning and his balls are clenching and Billy’s hand is _still_ on him; who cares if he might have horizontal bruises on his dick from grinding so hard. Who cares if the split skin in his right eyebrow throbs as he grinds his face into the door?

It goes how Billy said it would. It goes how he wanted, and Marcus isn’t clear headed enough to know if those two statements are the same thing or if it means something that it feels good that Billy gets what he wants. Maybe it’s just a part of sex, feeling like a good boy, maybe everyone feels like this all the time. Or maybe it’s hand and hand with the sudden kink of liking spankings. He can’t pinpoint it right now. But he does come from the spanking, his first orgasm with another person and he doesn’t even get his dick touched. And the instant Marcus does Billy’s got his hand down his jeans, jerking himself off. Marcus thinks for a moment that Billy’s going to come on him, stripe his roasting ass with strings of jizz, but he ends up just blowing onto the floor. Dirty, but hardly any worse than Marcus’ own painting of the door. Hell, for all he knows his spunk blasted through the slats and is coating the hallway too. If the puddle doesn’t dry up by morning, _then_ Marcus will worry about cleaning it up.

Billy ends the session by patting him one last time on his reddened ass, a love tap, before scooping up his jacket and beginning to wriggle back into it one handed. Marcus figures it’s pretty blatant code for ‘the sex is done now’ and floats on rubbery legs to the bed tucked in the corner of the room. If Billy’s done now, Marcus needs to pass out. Let his unconscious brain process about eight hundred new things.

Much to his surprise, Billy doesn’t leave. In fact, he follows Marcus the few steps to the bed. He must read some kind of confusion on Marcus’ face, because he offers “I’m gonna hang out with you for a bit.”

“What?”

“Yeah, you seem super new to this,” Billy says, pleasant confirmation in his tone. “So just letting you know for future encounters, it’s what decent people do. If you can’t imagine the person domming you hanging out and watching your back after, don’t let them dom you.”

Marcus barely knows what that is, and he doesn’t care. He’s empty, a hollowed out egg, and he wants to pass out before his conscious brain decides to think about everything that’s happened. “You don’t have to. I’m just going to go to sleep.”

Billy shrugs. “So I’ll stay with you until you do.”

It seems like getting Billy to not would take an awful lot of conviction. Marcus just doesn’t have it in him now. Marcus lays on his side, curled up into the incredible softness of an actual bed. Let Billy do as he may, Marcus will be asleep and unaware soon enough.

Billy sits on the edge of the mattress. Marcus doesn’t see it, what with his eyes closed, but he can feel the way the bed dips. The next thing Marcus knows, Billy’s stroking his uncasted hand up and down his side. It’s been ages since Marcus has been coddled to sleep. Even before his parents died he was the wrong age for that kind of affection and his parents so endlessly resentful that they’d been unlikely to persist in sweetness once rejected. It’s nice, coming from Billy. Marcus should be worried that he’s a killer who could have hidden motives, hidden goals, like every other student in this shark tank of a school, and be unable to drift off. But he’s already slept in the same homeless camp as Rory, a serial killer. If Billy does happen to kill him in his sleep, it’s just death catching up with him from the aborted suicide, and at least this time he dies having felt companionship. Not something he could have said yesterday.

“Glad you said yes, man,” Billy murmurs.

Marcus is too. To think he could be having drama with Maria or apathy with Saya right now, instead of genuine contentment and mutual satisfaction. Billy’s definitely the right hookup choice. If he feels the same way tomorrow he might even say something to make it happen again.


End file.
